


closing the distance

by witisoverrated



Series: the closer you get, the further I fall [2]
Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Romance, for everyone who wanted to know what goes down at the B/A wedding, they're so in love though, they're still pretentious af, they're still rich af
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:20:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29285913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witisoverrated/pseuds/witisoverrated
Summary: Sequel to 'from a safe distance'-Upper East Side soirees are to Jughead, what an NYU intern is to Veronica – a goddamn nuisance.
Relationships: Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Series: the closer you get, the further I fall [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2150874
Comments: 30
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda told some of you (and by 'you,' I mean all the lovely people who decided they'd give 'from a safe distance' a chance!) that I've got a gigantic word doc of what is basically a short sequel to my other fic. Well, low and behold, I couldn't help myself so here it is! The first chapter is set in NYC (cause we gotta explore them being rich assholes doing rich asshole things as a couple now) but the rest will be set in Riverdale. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy and this gives somewhat of a satisfying closure to where I left Jughead/Veronica's relationship off in my last story x

Veronica wouldn’t budge on Milan, convinced that his leg needed the extra time to heal, but they did spend two blissful weeks in Saint-Tropez after Dr. Hernandez gave him the ‘ok.’

Things weren’t so different from the first time - they read, and drank, and swam, and laughed, and even stayed in the same apartment with the claw bathtub that she loved so much – but they also made out like a couple of teenagers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Younger him would have rolled his eyes at their wildly inappropriate public displays of affection, but older him no longer cares about how other people feel so he kept finding random alcoves to back her up against so he could snake a hand up those teeny tiny skirts that she took to wearing and see firsthand just how wet and ready she was for him.

Jughead waited until then to sleep with her, because he wanted to romance her a little. Which in his opinion, is an impressive feat considering that Veronica looks the way that she does and her new work project means modelling him new La Perla offerings every night before they go to bed. He’s nauseous whenever he imagines Veronica, in bed with another lover, but he’s always pictured her as confident and controlled under the sheets. So when she was all bashful and unassuming when he pushed the strap of her nightgown off her shoulder and replaced it with his lips, his ego likes to think that he’s the only man who’s ever had that effect on her. She wasn’t so demure the next few nights that follow though; the scratches down his back and their neighbours would testify to that.

Veronica too, had her fun being a tease, walking around their room in skimpy lingerie that never stayed on for too long and prancing around town in mini dresses that seemed to shrink as the days go. Eventually, it got too much and Jughead almost had to deck a drunk tourist’s in the eye for ogling her from too close of a distance. And just like last time, they get sloppy over whiskey and champagne, but unlike last time, they did have drunk sex afterward.

It felt like their own private honeymoon and Jughead dreaded the thought of it ending. He was only consoled by the knowledge that returning to the city also meant returning to _their_ home.

* * *

Just as he predicted, it’s difficult to get back to normal routines when you spend weeks upon weeks attached to the hips.

“Take me to lunch later?”

Jughead chuckles softly into the corner of her lips and plants another kiss there. “Aren’t you sick of seeing me yet?”

She hums contently into his mouth. “Never. If anything, I miss you already.”

“Alright,” he mumbles and sneaks in another kiss, tasting her for good measures before pulling away, “I’ll meet you back here at one?”

“Perfect”

And it is - everything’s perfect.

If Jughead’s honest with himself, he’s never enjoyed the act of dating. It’s a lot of feigning enthusiasm over clashing interests and asking follow-up questions for the sake of niceties. But just as most things go when it comes to Veronica, dating her has been fun. They make out behind trees in Central Park until some kids boo them. They spend their nights watching HBO and trading books. Their weekends are split between dinner parties and downtown bars that Veronica finds unsanitary even if she also deems them “ _lowbrow cool_.” They hold hands everywhere and even when they’re not, her arm is around his waist or his is around her shoulder. Sometimes he thinks it’s almost embarrassing how in love he is - he still spends hours at times marveling at how they’re finally together after all these years and how for the first time in his life, he isn’t waiting for something to go wrong.

He takes Veronica to Rao’s for Italian but she’s less interested in her Panzanella, and more in rubbing the ball of her foot up and down his calf until he can no longer stand it. He tips the wait staff just enough so he’d turn a blind eye when the two of them disappear into the closet-size powder room. He thinks he might have to slip him another ten on their way out so he’d play deaf to all the erratic rutting and squeaking that was him shamelessly screwing her into the wall.

“You know, there’s no shame in taking that job at Vanity Fair, right?” Veronica tells him, sated and sitting pretty on the sink while she does her best to dab her lipstick off his collar.

He knows there isn’t. He’s more than qualified for the job and now that he’s dating _the_ Veronica Lodge, he had the right pedigree for it too. The only issue is that he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t know what he wants to do yet. All he knows is that he can’t return to his post at the New Yorker. Which, called him two weeks after the Chronicles published a story about his and Veronica’s “ _bloody discoveries from the rear windows_.” He doesn’t tell her about their offer to have him back in exchange for an exclusive interview nor the fact that he turned it down. He spent so much travelling as an excuse to put some distance between Veronica and himself that he can’t afford to waste another second of being away from her, in fact, he doesn’t want to be apart at all if he can help it. That means he needed to find something more permanent in town.

He walks the two blocks to get home and spends the rest of the day putting up with construction noises as they saw and screw and sand every inch of the next room. His place isn’t small by any means but Veronica had overheard his neighbor (a harmless, old man and not a psychopath) telling a lady in the elevator that he was looking to sell so he could move to the countryside. She skipped the vital step of asking him what he thought of living with six-months of renovation and went straight to writing the man a cheque big enough to cover the cost of that piece of land in Pennsylvania and all the farm animals he could dream of. Jughead wanted to get angry at her, but then she started talking about their future; of growing old together in a double apartment with a cozy fireplace and a great big bookcase that they’d fill with all the classics they shared a great love for. The irritation churning inside of him completely vanished after she agreed to limit her closet space in lieu of his growing vinyl collection. His apartment is looking less and less like a bachelor’s pad as the days trickle by, but he’d be fooling himself if says it had been one in the months leading up to the murder anyway – his bathroom cabinet’s readily stocked with Guerlain’s Shalimar, the drawer under his nightstand filled with diamonds and emeralds, and with the exception of one picture of him and JB as children, the rest of the photo frames in his apartment are of the two of them throughout the years. He realises belatedly that Veronica had spent years littering his furniture with a trail of her belongings. If anything, the place has started feeling more like home ever since she moved in and acted as if she’d always been a resident.

She’s the considerate kind, so she offers to hire someone to supervise all the work being done but Jughead turns her down, thinking it frugal since it’s not like he’s got places to be these days.

Eventually, he gets so bored with himself that he decides to take a trip down memory lane via his old laptop. He can hardly believe it when the thing powers up after an hour or two of charging. There are random folders filled with school works, half-finished Blue & Gold articles, and scrapped stories meant for the horror fiction salon. He finds old pictures of his younger self and JB, some with Archie and two of Veronica. He wasn’t in those pictures but he remembered taking them and thinking how beautiful she was even back then. He doesn’t skip through his pictures with Betty; they used to torment him but now they serve as a dull reminder that there was a time when he chased fake demons and his best friend’s first crush. If anything the snapshots from his teenage years told a different story than they used to - Betty never looked at him like the way she did Archie and judging by the handful of picture frames that lined their freshly installed mantelpiece, he never looked at her the way he does Veronica either. His favourite one of them sat in the middle of the line-up. It was from a benefit party that they accidentally, and not at all purposefully attended together a handful of years ago. Veronica was half sitting on his lap in a poofy, lilac Givenchy gown and obviously chatting to someone outside the shot. He had one arm wrapped loosely around her waist and one resting on her lap over the fifty layers of fabric, holding onto a thousand dollar clutch for her while she sipped on some Dom Perignon. Jughead remembers being bored to death on the night but he didn’t look it in the photograph, if anything he looked content. He was watching her do all the talking with admiration in his eyes and adoration in his smile. He wonders if everyone else knew they were in love back then because he’s pretty sure they were.

He eventually comes across what is left of the three-hundred-something pages doc of his amateur, non-fiction fiction on Riverdale and all the darkness it had to offer. He reads through the first ten pages and quickly deduces that the story had all the meat but none of the flavour. It’s a jumbled, lackluster mess. He makes a mental note that he’ll have to do something about that and transfers it to a thumb drive.

He spends the rest of the evening cooking dinner and had everything plated and ready to go by the time Veronica waltzes through the door.

“We should go to the wedding.”

* * *

They say opposites attract. In many ways, they’re very similar people. For example, Veronica likes to come home, kick off her four-hundred dollar designer heels and snuggle up on the couch with a generous glass of red and the latest New York Time’s bestseller. He likes that too; he likes it even more when he gets to do it with her curling into his side. She also likes to get takeout from the Thai place down the block once a week, which he’s more than happy to gorge himself on. All in all, they’re a pair of bookish individuals that share a common love for almost all art forms and budget-friendly Asian cuisines. Then comes the minor differences that shouldn’t matter at all, yet somehow they do. For one, Veronica is borderline OCD and likes all the products in the bathroom to be arranged in a straight line, specifically backed against the wall. For two, she colour codes her closet like a fashionista sociopath and is insistent that they wear slippers around the house. For three, she’s hellbent on maintaining visibility in high society. He considers the former two quirky habits that he’ll grow to endear in the long run. The third, however, he is completely and unequivocally tortured by.

Upper East Side soirees are to him, what an NYU intern is to Veronica – a goddamn nuisance.

But because he’s impossibly besotted with her, he puts on a freshly dry-cleaned suit and a tie of her choosing and plays along every other Friday evening. Most times, she appreciates the effort he puts into grooming and, other times – like now – she’s a horror show about it.

It starts with the cab ride over. She talks his ear off about the Laquan Smith’s show that she attended earlier that evening, and crams him into the door with her legs saddled over his freshly pressed pantsuits for the sake of doing up the straps of her heels. Then when they do get there, he tells him to “stop being a big baby” when he groans in response to the news of keto-inspired catering. He’s annoyed to be subjected to a diet that he doesn’t even care to be on, but he sucks it up because he knows all this pompous display of impossible wealth is important to her. So he scoffs down kale chips and bacon sushi, and engage in small talks with bankers who take pleasure in condescending him over his unemployment status. He even willingly eats Philly Cheesesteak Lettuce wraps with a smile plastered on his face; he’s not happy to do it but he does it anyway. But Paul from finance? That’s where he draws the line.

It’s not as if Paul from finance is some big secret that he’s only finding out about now. Veronica has made many mentions of the guy and his persistent attempts to woo her all over the city. It was callous of him, he can see that now at his older age, but Veronica and he used to share a laugh over how unabashed the man must be to keep up with his dead-end pursuit. You can only foot so many bills triple-digit bills at Nobu before you admit defeat. Jughead only started feeling some pity for him after he too, fell for Veronica, but now all he wants is for Paul to leave his girlfriend the fuck alone.

It doesn’t help that Paul is a Yale graduate with traditionally handsome physiques and a gentleman to boot. He also plays squash on the weekend and has a subscription to the Atlantic, something Jughead knows for a fact Veronica is always on the lookout for in a man. The broad-shoulder blonde is the kind of real-life reference that Jughead tends to stay away from because he’s too perfect to make an introspective character in a fictional world. Except, in the real world, Paul’s perfect and so is she. He’s not.

Veronica throws her head back, laughing over something Paul had said to the rest of the group huddled around the balcony windows. It’s suddenly high school all over again but instead of under the bleachers, he’s watching the cool kids from the space between the cloakroom and the powder room. He might have made a few complaints about how long she took to get ready, but as she’d promised, the end result was worth it. Veronica looks awe-inspiring in that ocean blue floor-length gown. She’s pulled her back into a fashionable bun for tonight, leaving her neck and clavicle tantalizing exposed. He’s secretly regretful that he didn’t leave a line of bruising hickey there for their last round of lovemaking. Maybe Paul from finance would get the message then.

“I’m jealous.”

It’s Tom, sipping bourbon and elegantly stretched out on the leather chaise lounge behind him as if he owns the place. Jughead flinches and wonders if Veronica’s ex-husband recently bought himself psychic abilities along with that new yacht from last month. Although he supposed if that’s the case, he would have heard that line of thought as well. _No, that’s me – not you, you prick_ , Jughead feels like snapping at him, _I’m the one that’s acting like an insecure freshman who managed to land a cheerleader for a girlfriend._

The man offers him a bittersweet smile. “Hiya, old sport. Need any tips on escorting Ronnie to future gatherings? I know she enjoys being difficult.”

To his credit, Tom has aged fairly well for a man who’s largely preoccupied with drinking and partying these days. Jughead knows it’s a selfish way to view things but he’s not apologetic that the divorce happened. Without it, he'd probably be eternally pining for their mutual love and waiting on the day Tom tragically dies from a freak accident, because if there's one thing he knows about Veronica, it's that she'd rather wear flip-flops than cheat. He is, however, somewhat sorry to see that Veronica was the only thing stopping the Cushing heir from falling victim to extreme excess. 

“No, thanks,” Jughead scowls into his glass, “Not my first rodeo, and she’s high maintenance, maybe, but not difficult. There’s nothing wrong with a woman who knows what she wants.”

“You would say that,” Tom replies with a throaty chuckle.

“What are you jealous of anyway?” he asks, trying hard not to wince at the sight of Paul turning to Veronica with a thousand-watt smile and a caviar plate.

“You, of course,” the man says plainly, “The way she is with you, to be exact.

Not that that’s happened in the last hour, Jughead thinks solemnly. Then swivels his head over his shoulder to appraise Cushing with an urging raise of the brow.

“I know Veronica – “

“I’d argue I know her a bit better than you do.”

Now he’s just being petty.

“I know. If you’d let me finish…” Tom sighs and sits up with both feet firm on the checkered floor, “I’m still confident to this day that we would have made it had it not been for the one major difference that we couldn’t reconcile on. However,” his throat constricts at that pained pause, “I think it’s about time we call a spade a spade and admit that you’re the better man for her. She seems at home with you…like she knew she was bound to get here all along.”

They drink in steady silence, which makes clear to Jughead that neither of them were prepared to have this conversation.

“How does it feel to finally get the girl?”

“Why ask?” he retorts, “You weren’t waiting to win her back, were you?”

“Oh no, no, nothing like that,” he admits, his voice empty, “I was just hoping you could let me know what it’s like to finally get what you wanted after all this time. It’s not like you haven’t always loved her.”

Tom’s twenty-something-year-old model date waves him into the lavatory for a line of coke and Jughead has never been more grateful for casual substance use because he really didn’t know what to say to that. All he knows is that if that’s how her ex-husband sees it then he’s spent his night doing a poor imitation of his teenage angst for nothing.

Jughead throws back the rest of his drink and pushes off the wall he’s been leaning on for the last half an hour. Every step that he takes to cross the room is purposeful; he’s glad to see that it translates as such too because honored guests and dishonored drunks instantly move out of his way.

Veronica is standing by the fireplace, her fingers toying with the stem of her wine glass and her lips spread into an even smirk.

“Hey,” he whispers gently into her ear, the diamond on her earring cool against his cheek as he fits his chin into the crooked of her neck and wounds an arm around her slim waist. She smells like jasmine and expensive Bordeaux and he wants to stay here forever with her pressed into him. 

The brunette throws him a slow smile over her shoulder and leans into his touch like it’s second nature for her to be held by him. “I was just telling Julia all about you.”

Julia musters a cordial ‘hi’, her cheeks flushed an intense shade of crimson.

“Were you now?” Jughead teases and returns the other woman’s shy smile, “It better be good things after that shoe print you left on my pants earlier.”

Veronica lets out an exasperated but harmless scoff. “It was a fashion emergency!”

“If you say so,” he hums, then turns to Julia, “I hope Veronica at least told you my name?”

“Oh, don’t worry, I can’t think of one person in the office that doesn’t know your name. Veronica cannot stop talking about you,” Julia gushes, her brown eyes sparkling playfully as they land of the brunette in question, “Every morning she comes in and make us feel bad with all her stories about what a wonderful boyfriend she has!”

“Please stop,” she pleads, looking suddenly sheepish, “Trust me, his ego doesn’t need the extra boost.”

She doesn’t know how wrong she is about that.

“You guys make such a cute couple. It’s sickening to watch!”

Veronica gives the other girl’s arm a squeeze, a word of appreciation on the tips of her tongue when Paul from finance cuts in with a glass of champagne for each of the girls and a good-naturedly, “Hey there”

“Oh Paul,” she waves him into the small circle they’ve been standing in, “This is my boyfriend, Jughead Jones. Have you met?”

Paul wavers but his gleaming smile is a tactful cover-up of the fact. “No, we haven’t. Hi, I’m Paul, I work in – “

“Finance,” Jughead finishes for him and sticks out a hand, “Veronica may have mentioned your many adventures to the _Electric Room_.”

The brunette jams an elbow into his ribcage warningly, and even that can’t wipe the smug look off his face. Paul looks somewhere in between mortified and completely ill.

The blonde clears his throat and motions between the non-existent space between the two of them. “So how long has this been going on?”

“A few months now,” Veronica declares rather proudly, meeting his eyes with barely contained affection in her own, “But I think I’m speaking for the two of us when I say it’s been a long time coming.”

Later that night, when the sky is bronze and the drinks are long gone, Veronica slips into bed beside him and kisses him full on the lips. She’s wearing an old Pink Floyd t-shirt that she once stole from him so she could fit in at an underground rave; that in itself floods him with indescribable joy.

“You were fun tonight.”

“Are you trying to say I’m usually not?” he jests lightly, brushing a silky curl away from her cheek and planting a kiss there.

“Not at parties. You make it your mission to be the Grinch.”

“And what exactly am I stealing?”

“Everybody’s joy”

“Yeah, well,” he chuckles lowly when he feels her shudder at the cold sensation of his palm cupping her naked butt cheek, “You seemed pretty joyous tonight so I wouldn’t say that’s all true.”

“True that. I was especially giddy when you tried to exert what little male authority you had over Paul.”

Jughead rolls his eyes.

“Admit it,” Veronica grins as she rolls on top, her legs locked around his hips, “You were jealous.”

“No”

“Yes”

She grinds down into him and his mind short-circuits for long enough that she gets him to admit that: “Maybe, just a little.”

Veronica giggles, whether that’s induced from all the bubblies she consumed tonight or the situation is not to be determined. He doesn’t worry about that for long though, not when she pulls off his shirt and tells him he’s everything she’s ever wanted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking this might be a 4 parter at most. I originally only wanted this to be a one-shot but if you know me you know I get carried away sometimes lol. Anyway, thank you so much for all the love and support and the kudos and comments! I truly appreciate it and reading them always motivate me to put out more work x
> 
> NOTE: I wrote most of this prior to S5 premiered so this fic, like the first one of this series, isn't canon-compliant and won't be going by any of the storylines present in this season.

They decide to make a trip out of their trek to Riverdale.

Jughead gets a rental and Veronica makes the playlist. Trying to find the exact motel they stayed at that summer was a bit of a head scratch but in the end, his determination turned some results. Everything is still grubby and dusty, and he’s aware Veronica would usually never be caught dead staying at an establishment like this, but he knows he made the right call when he pulls up to the lot and her face lights up like the Fourth of July. They managed to convince the old lady who runs the place to give them the same room under the guise of a high school sweethearts saga. A little back story (“our road trip to New York - we’ve always talked about moving to the big city together!”) and a little showmance (“we just knew we had to celebrate our ten years anniversary by coming here!”) later, they were given their key and a complimentary ‘love birds’ discount. They barely make it through the door before Veronica starts tearing at his shirt. Afterward, they stay in bed and watch old cartoons on mute while they scoff down whatever he could get his hands on from the vending machine.

Veronica makes him get in the kidney-shaped pool with its uneven mosaic tiles. He’d refused to back then, too sad and broody to face the daylight. He doesn’t tell her but that summer he sat by the window of their room whenever she went down for a swim so he could keep an eye on her, paranoid that some random hick would push his luck after seeing her in a bikini. He remembered thinking how exhausting it must have been for Archie to deal with all the unwanted male attention she attracted. One time at a gas station, he had to chase off some kid because he wanted a kiss on the cheek for doing his job. Jughead admittedly, also found her attractive when they were kids, but he thinks she’s gotten even more beautiful over the years with some faint lines around her eyes and smiles. The Veronica at eighteen was so heavy with unspoken agony - heavy eyes, heavy words, heavy shoulders, heavy heart. The Veronica now, splashing water at him and giggling under the sun, illuminates everything around her and it’s breathtaking to watch.

“I remember sitting in this very spot and trying to figure out why on earth I asked you to leave town with me in the first place,” Veronica tells him from the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water and him standing between her legs.

He frowns because now that he thinks about it, she never gave her reason. She told him to pack his bags and he just did.

“Why did you?”

She shrugs, droplets of water sliding down her tanned skin. “It just felt like something we were supposed to do together. It didn’t feel right to go without you.”

“I would have never gotten out with you,” he confesses and slants his mouth over hers, “So thank you, for choosing me.”

* * *

“It’s a wonder to me how nothing has changed around here - not a single thing,” Veronica carps from the passenger seat as they drive down Maple street, “Be honest, is this where people wound up after they’re sucked into an episode of ‘Twilight Zone’? Were you just a traveler and that’s why you were able to leave?” She makes a teasing ‘ooh’ sound that matches her grin, “Is that why there’s an operating FBI base here? You can tell me, I’ll sign an NDA if I must.”

Jughead grimaces at the humdrum suburbia that is his hometown and says, “I feel like that’s got more to do with the fact that Riverdale is now universally recognized as the murder capital, Ronnie.”

“And yet, no one in this town ever keeps their doors locked,” she quips, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“Because locks have worked so well for you in the past.”

“Oh hush, keep your eyes on the road and try not to run over a G&G character.”

No one is surprised that they’re together like they are but everyone is surprised that they decided to show in the first place. A few familiar faces gawk at them as they roll past. Jughead chooses to avoid all eye contact and Veronica flashes a smile or two if the mood strikes. He’s never been more grateful for the Lodge Lodge and the fact that they’ll be staying there instead of somewhere central.

He parks the car across the street, slotting neatly in between a cherry red Chevrolet Impala and a silver Pontiac. It’s still the only red door on Elm Street.

Veronica gives him a small, reassuring smile that he doesn’t need but appreciates nevertheless.

“Don’t forget the Cronuts, and the wine,” she reminds before hopping out.

Cooper residence hasn’t changed much, if at all. The yard is immaculately trimmed, the trees are impossibly tall and leafless but the pot of plants stay evergreen. Veronica swaggers up the steps like it was just yesterday that she’d dropped by for an impromptu sleepover and drags him along with her hand draped over his arm and his caressing the small of her back.

“How do I look?” she asks cheerily, turning around to face him.

“Perfect,” Jughead grumbles, “But you knew that.”

“I wish the same could be said about you,” Veronica’s easy smile folds into a frown as she shuffles to stand in front of him, her dark manicures smoothing down the stiff cotton, “Darling, you look positively dreadful with your collars upturned. You’re not actually James Dean you know.”

He rolls his eyes but lets her fuss over him anyway. She used to occasionally drop a ‘darling’ or two back when they weren’t quite together yet, and everything was jest and hidden affection between them. He’s noticed in the last few months that she only seems to purr that specific term of endearment whenever she’s irate with or by him. It makes him want to shush her with a kiss every time.

“Did you even iron this? I told you to send this and the J.Crew shirt to the dry cleaner.”

“You think I’d be stupid enough to disobey you?”

She hums enticingly and pecks at his cheek. “That’s what I like to hear - “

“Oh,” Alice Cooper nee Smith, stood over them. Her aquamarine eyes as wide as saucers as she steadies herself with the door frame, her nails sharp against the wood, “Jughead, Veronica - I wasn’t expecting the two of you.”

Veronica wiggles as if she’s trying to put some space between them but Jughead just holds her tighter. She shoots him a disapproving look that he has no trouble ignoring, especially when it puts a horrified sort of look on Alice’s face. The Cooper matriarch hasn’t aged much at all but the deeply etched lines across her forehead are telling a different story.

“Did my dad not tell you that we were coming?”

The woman gapes, her jaws slack then tightens as if they’re being held together by a rubber band. “No,” she says shortly, “Not that I recall, no.”

 _So they’re on the outs this month_ , Jughead thinks to himself grimly. JB used to complain to him over the phone about the tumultuous relationship between their father and his ex-girlfriend’s mother - how they were hot one moment and not the next. He suspects that’s why FP never sold the trailer after all these years; he wanted the option of being elsewhere whenever Alice decides that she doesn’t want him around.

“Hi, Missus Cooper,” Veronica greets chirpily, her syrupy sweet voice melting through the tension, “It’s nice to see you again. We brought you some delicatessen. I hope you guys like Cronuts - it’s all the rage in New York at the moment.”

“Thank you, Veronica,” Alice says robotically and smiles like one too, “Please...come in.”

Inside, everything’s mainly the same. It smells the same too, like vanilla and freshly baked goods. The corridor feels much longer and narrower than it used to, but maybe that’s what happens when you know you no longer belong. They’ve moved a few things around to accommodate today’s gathering and he can already see a handful of pictures with Betty and Archie that have replaced the ones of Betty and him. There are no traces of Hal anywhere but none of his dad either.

“Oh my god, Veronica!” a jittery brunette he recognises as Ginger Lopez gasps.

“Hey everyone,” Veronica said with an amiable zest.

Jughead has never been much of a people person and right now, he feels overstimulated by the sheer volume of people standing around in the Cooper’s living room. He can see at least half a dozen more in the backyard. Was the whole goddamn town invited to this thing?

He’s about to try his hand at braving the crowd with some of the fake gusto Veronica’s sporting when the fly screen door is thrown open and a vision of golden blonde and soft chiffons staggers through it.

“Juggie?”

No one has called him that in years, not even Veronica.

Betty’s smile is watery and so are her green eyes when she glides over to him. She’s got her arms wide open and her heart on her sleeve as she pulls him into a tight hug.

Veronica’s crimson pout twitches as the only indication of her unease to an otherwise, a very contained poker face. Archie pops out from behind the staircase with a boyish grin himself. His fiery hair perfectly tousled and biceps rippling under that baby blue button-up as he squeezes Veronica’s shoulder in warm welcome.

“I can’t believe you guys came,” the blonde sputters, her nonplussed gaze landing on the petite brunette next to him, “I - This is - _was_ ,” she corrects with a breathy laugh, “The only thing stopping this from being the perfect week.”

Jughead nods stiffly, not knowing what to do or say. In his own overactive mind, he’d always imagined his final stand-off with Betty and Archie to be strained, and traumatic and maybe even violent if the mood strikes, but the reality is that he barely remembers what it was like to love them both like they were his own bloodline. Instead, there are flashes of playing in the sandpit with Archie and borrowing murder mystery books from Betty.

“Well, consider it an early wedding gift,” Veronica says, her lips stretching into a clinical smile.

“Oh, V,” the blonde gushes and clutches the brunette to her like a life vessel.

Besides him, Archie stares at him with those benevolent brown eyes that seem to have only grown softer with time. “I’m really glad you could make it, man. We both are.”

It’s jerky and cold when it flies out of his mouth but It’s better than nothing at all. “Sure”

A piercing squeal emerges from the backyard, followed by a crunching sound of heels stepping on glass and an ear-grating bleat of _‘TT!’’_ He still gets nightmares about that voice sometimes.

“Oh boy,” Kevin mutters not so quietly from the kitchen, his eyes trailing after Toni Topaz as she storms off the Cooper’s property, “Uh…many happy returns from the rest of us?”

They don’t talk about the multiple elephants in the room - not the cheating, not the couple swapping, not the abrupt departure, and definitely not the reappearances after over a decade of staying far, far away. No, instead they sip wine and eat puff pastries, and dance around the long-list of shared histories.

* * *

Jughead tries to get away with leaving a note but Veronica is a light sleeper after spending years under Hiram Lodge’s roof, so she’s awake and smirking by the time he gets out of the bathroom.

“Going somewhere, lover?” She drawls, fingering the sticky note he’d stuck to the nightstand, “I didn’t take you for the time to hit it and quit it, Mister Jones.”

He coughs, unsure if he’s more embarrassed by her suggestive comment or being caught. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Uh-huh,” she sounds far from convinced as she kicks her legs out from under covers and reminds him of her nakedness, “You know there’s really no need to sneak around.”

Veronica’s nails graze his abdomen when she brushes past, yanking the silk robe off the bedroom bench and hastily knots herself in it. Jughead watches in nervy silence as she plants herself down in front of the vanity and begins brushing through her crumpled curls. He can tell by her composure that this isn’t confrontational by any means, but rather a playful show of her concern for him. It’s not a great feeling having to hide from her. He can’t even name a single thing (other than the extent of his affection) he kept from her since they were eighteen.

“I know,” he runs his hands through his own hair that he should have tended to, “It’s just easier to not talk about it.”

She offers a compensating smile over her shoulder. “It’s okay, I get it. Just...let me know if you want me to cancel today. I wouldn’t mind missing out on crumpets and maple syrup.”

Cheryl had cornered Veronica into agreeing to tea over at Thornhill. He knows she only said ‘yes’ because she wants to patch things up with Toni, for his sake.

Jughead mirrors her smile and plants a gentle kiss on her cheek. “I think I’ll need to tackle this one myself, but thank you for your generous offer.”

He leaves with a promise to pick her up later for lunch by Sweetwater River.

The drive to Southside is infinitely more comforting than the one to the Northside. Try as he might to deny it, this is truly what it feels like to come home. He wasn’t born to the smell of freshly mowed lawns or crisp morning air. He was born to burnt coal, cigarette smoke, and damp cement. He rolls up the window and seals himself off from all of it. The trailer is run down and filthy like everything else on this side of town. FP’s truck sits outside, the wheels straddling the curb like it had been haphazardly parked after one too many drinks.

Jughead holds his head down and enters without knocking. It’s a decaying mess, much like the man residing within it.

“Nice for you to finally pay your old man a visit.”

A crushed-up can of cola rolls over to his feet and he nudges it out of the way. “Not like I had a choice.”

The thing is, Jughead doesn’t mean to be volatile. He wishes his relationship with his dad is akin to the warm yet distance one his sister has developed with him over the years. The problem is unlike JB, he’s seen too much of him - drunk, battered, angry, violent, mean - to not be volatile. He thought it would fade with time but the stench of his resentment lingers like the cheap beer on FP’s breath. _Maybe it goes both ways_ , he thinks distantly. His dad had wanted a son to live out his legacy and he’d wanted to end it _._ Over the years, he’d found it easy not to dwell on the things that were supposed to define him because well, they didn’t. He’d made it out - _more_ than made it out with his success and wealth and Veronica. Jughead doesn’t think about any of the sad misfortunes that tainted him because he doesn’t have to, until now.

“Alice told you I was here?”

He’d almost felt sorry for him. The woman didn’t even mention him once while they were over.

“No, I took a guess.”

He’d left town with minute hope that things would get better. FP had quit booze for the fifth time and settled into his new life as Alice Cooper’s live-in boyfriend. Alice was so smug about it too; thought of herself as the woman that his mother couldn’t quite measure up to. Gladys wasn’t much of a parent - or anything at all - but still, he feels a sick sense of satisfaction knowing that Alice has to live with the first-hand knowledge that she too, couldn’t fix FP Jones. In the end, it was the same shit, just different women. His dad all but confirms that with his week old’s beard and covered in a ratty t-shirt that doesn’t look like it’s been washed in a month. Jughead would say he’s sad to see that FP’s still a sorry sack of bones but a part of him knew that it would be this way and that very same part drove him so far away out of the fear that he would too, one day, be a harrowing disgrace.

“Want one?” FP offers, his teeth biting down on a cigarette. 

“I quit.”

The “ _Veronica made me”_ part of it hangs in the air.

“So, you’re dating the Lodge girl now.”

“Yep,” Jughead confirms aloofly.

“How’s that going?” the man sneers, “Think this one’s it? I know how much you like picking up after Fred’s boy’s scraps.”

Once upon a time, he would have retorted with something equally venomous but he’s since learned that words can’t cut when you know there’s no truth to them.

“Get up,” Jughead tells him like it’s non-negotiable and in a way, it really isn’t, “JB’s coming home tomorrow and I don’t want her seeing you like this.”

* * *

JB does get to come home to a picture-perfect Cooper-Jones reunion. A teenager version of himself would have been envious but he’s since settled into his big brother role and understands what the duty entails.

FP is cleaned shaven and sober when he leaves to go pick her up from the bus stop and Alice gets something baking in the oven. Betty runs to the video store down the road and rents all the cheesy chick-flicks she could get her hands on and Jughead does his best to not look out of place. Betty and he don’t avoid each other as much as civilly existing in the same space. He initially had no plan to make small talks but the moment inevitably comes where they’re left to each other’s company and Betty’s fist is closed much too tight around a mug of tea.

So he bites: “Is everything okay?”

She hesitates for a moment. Her lips quivering before folding into a forlorn smile. “Yeah, of course. Everything’s great.”

Soon enough, the ‘but’ follows.

“I’m just a bit nervous to see her. For her to come home, I mean.”

Jughead nods stoically. “That’s understandable. It’s been a long time since we’re all under one roof.”

They’re on the opposite ends of the couch and while it’s weird to not be touching hands and knees, it doesn’t feel wrong. He idly wonders if the invisible divide between them has always been there, waiting to push them further and further away until one of them would give under the weight of gravity.

“I know it’s too late and it probably won’t mean much to you, but,” her doe eyes plead with him to look at her - _really_ look at her since he’s rolled back into her life, “I’m really sorry for how things turned out between us.”

“I know,” he tells her earnestly and exhales the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in, “You don’t need to keep apologizing, Betts. Everything you wrote in that message from years ago...” he has so much he wants to say and yet so little he could, “I’m not going to lie and say that things didn’t suck for a while, because it did. I didn’t just lose you, I lost you to my best friend and then I lost him too. When you chose Archie, it wasn’t as simple as him over me. It was him _and_ not me - not at all, not in any capacity.”

“Jughead, I – “

He holds up his hand, terminating her speech. “Please don’t think that I want you to beg for forgiveness. That wasn’t the point I was trying to make,” he swallows thickly and stares at the flame brewing in the fireplace like it’s any point of intrigue, “I just wanted to make you to understand why I left the way that I did. That probably wasn’t easy for you either – Veronica and I, disappearing overnight.”

“No,” Betty admits gravely, “No, it wasn’t, but I understood why you both needed to get away.” She sweeps her blonde locks to the side and thickly, she croaks, “Were you two in love back then too?”

Jughead scoffs because if that’s not the most ludicrous thing he’s heard. “Far from it. We fought every single mile it took to get to New York.”

She chuckles with renewed fervour. “To be honest, I think Arch and I were more worried about you two killing each other than running off together."

“Yeah, for a minute there I wasn’t sure if we were going to make it too.”

“From the looks of it I’d say you have,” Betty teases, her face lighting up with a broad grin, “Veronica told me that you’ve moved in together. That’s big, Jug.”

“ _You_ think that’s big?” he gives her a knowing look, “You’re getting married in three days, Betty.”

Betty’s grin widens at the mere mention of the upcoming nuptials. “Yeah, I am.”

* * *

They spend the first couple of days ignoring the big, fat neon elephant that is Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe. Unofficially, it’s the heart of the town. Officially, it’s where things come together just to fall apart.

Veronica doesn’t outright refuse to enter but he sees it in her eyes whenever they land on the greasy takeaway bag that’s permanently on the arms of every local. According to Kevin, Pop Tates passed five years ago and the place is now being run by Trev Brown of all people. He’s driven past it once or twice since they’ve gotten here and the diner is still overrun by high schoolers and familiar faces of his old friends. At one point, he thinks he sees the ghost of his and Betty’s golden years floating by the window. Veronica and Archie too, sitting together on the other side of the cramped booth with their own carefree smiles.

It eventually becomes unavoidable for the both of them when Josie texts Veronica to let her know that she’d be touching down the next morning and they should regroup there over brunch. Jughead understands that ‘they’ doesn’t necessarily include him, but he knows wandering back into Pop’s is one of those things they were supposed to do together. 

“Here we go,” he mutters gruffly and pushes the door open, taking Veronica with him.

It’s eerie to see a mirror-image of his last memory of the diner. The seats are still vinyl red, the table still ghostly white, and perspiring milkshake glasses still reflecting electric violet lights. He can smell oil in the air and taste hamburger grease on his tongue. The jukebox is spinning a seven-inch record of an old sixties doo-wop track his ex-girlfriend loved to sing-along to but his current one couldn’t stand.

“Ugh, I’ve always hated this song,” Veronica grumbles as if on cue, “Bobby Vinton always sounds like he’s in the process of getting his leg decapitated.”

Jughead rolls his eyes and begins to pull her down the aisle of seats, her hand securely tucked under his arm, “I think it’s safe to say that Josie is late.”

“I’ll be sure to remind her that she’s no longer operating on New York time,” Veronica assures him with a phony smile and motions at one of the many empty seating, “We should sit here. Nothing bad has ever happened in that booth.”

He shakes his head. “Kevin and Fangs got brainwash into joining the farm.”

“What about there?”

Jughead gives her a sidelong look. “Archie and Reggie, ‘The Red Circle.”

“There?”

“JB, experimenting with jingle-jangle.”

Veronica growls and points at the mid-row “Fine. There?”

“There’s fine,” Jughead finally agrees, “I actually watched you slave away during the summer break right here,” he emphasizes the last two word by drumming his finger on the table, “If someone had told me earlier that year that _the_ Veronica Lodge from the Park Avenue Lodge, would be scrubbing tables and mopping floors, I think I would have chalked it up to the fizzle rocks circulation.”

He isn’t lying either. He did spend a scary amount of time observing her that school break. There’s a paragraph or ten somewhere about the tension in her shoulders that never left, the curve of her hips that no longer swayed like it once did during her first year in Riverdale and how that particular shade of mustard was supposed to clash with her skin tone but it didn’t, not even close.

“I must have poured you a hundred cups of coffee that summer,” Veronica reminiscences.

“The first time we spoke was also in that booth.”

She turns to him in stupefaction. “You remember that?”

Jughead nods ‘yes’ and absent-mindedly brushes a thumb over her knuckle. “You stuck your hand out like the self-important brat that you are and I climbed over you for it.”

A nostalgic smile makes its way over her painted lips. “I guess not everything that happened in here was all bad.”

“Yes, you were very sexy, clomping around in sweat and grease in that Donna Summer’s waitress get up.”

Veronica narrows her eyes. “I hated that uniform.”

“Too bad,” he feigns a frown as he slides into the booth after her, “I was thinking we could be extra generous with the tip and convince Trev to hand over the dress.” His mouth drops to her ear and his fingers ease their way up her inner thigh as he whispers impishly, “I have a few ideas of what we could do with that.”

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones,” Veronica pretends to be scandalized but her flush tells him that she genuinely may be so, “What happened to not using cash as an end to a means?”

He shrugs and throws an arm over the back of her chair. “Having some money to my name has made me realize that it can come in handy when you want to get something done.”

Veronica cocks her head. “Why do I feel like I might have corrupted you?”

“Can’t corrupt the willing,” Jughead assures her and kisses her fleetingly on the lips.

“Ugh, gross,” Josie whinges all the way from the door, “I know I said it was about time you two got together but that wasn’t an open invitation to go overboard with the lovey-dovey stuff.”

And just for that, he leans in for another kiss.


End file.
